


Fighting (To Fall For You)

by stileskolpath



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Angry Derek, BAMF Stiles, Fighting Kink, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Oblivious Derek, Oral Sex, Pining, Pining Stiles, Sexual Tension, Sparring, fighting fic, slightly dirty, unresolved sexual tension and growling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-30
Updated: 2013-08-30
Packaged: 2017-12-25 02:22:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/947475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stileskolpath/pseuds/stileskolpath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"'So do you see what your problem is?'</p>
<p>'You?' Derek was still angry and breathing heavily. Stiles was enjoying that particularly. For what reasons, he couldn’t say. Well, he could, but he didn’t want to ruin a perfectly good slow-build fight with a poorly-timed erection."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fighting (To Fall For You)

**Author's Note:**

> So, yeah. I had been working on this one for a while, and I just couldn’t figure out how to end it, so I was like PWP? Cool. Done. 
> 
> Anyway, I finished it tonight, kind of fortuitously in time Amy Rose’s awesome posts about Stiles learning Self-Defense. So yeah, enjoy! 
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> As always, come visit me on my tumblr: watchthewolvesrun.tumblr.com!
> 
> Don't forget to leave Kudos (if you liked it) and comment!
> 
> -SK

Stiles was sitting with yet another broken and bloodied Derek. He shook his head, attempted to tend to the worst of the injuries, only to be growled-off by the alpha.

“Will you just let me help you?”

“I’ll heal.” Derek didn’t look at Stiles, and he said it through clenched teeth. The pain was evident on his face. Stiles hated seeing that look, which was ironic, considering how often it graced the werewolf’s features. Stiles tossed the first-aid supplies aside in exasperation.

“True. But have you ever thought about, oh, I don’t know, trying to avoid getting hurt in the first place?” It wasn’t supposed to sound angry, Stiles surprised even himself sometimes. Derek looked up at him like I’m-the-one-who’s-injured-here-why-are-you-yelling, his eyebrows raised all adorably and Stiles definitely did not swoon at the sight. He did not.

“And how am I supposed to do that?” Derek’s sarcasm was also not endearing. It was not.

“Learn to fight—”

“I know how to fight, Stiles.” The human held up a hand, truncating Derek’s train of thought.

“Like a human.” Stiles let the point sink in. Derek was quiet for a second, squinting at Stiles to figure out what his endgame was.

Then he scoffed. “And how will that help me?” Stiles walked over to the sink to wash some of Derek’s blood from Derek’s many injuries off of his hands. When the soap stung his skin, he realized he had a few himself. Regardless, the water pooled red around the drain before disappearing.

“Dunno, it just might. But the way you are going, you need all the help you can get.” He knew Derek was considering it, because he didn’t dismiss it immediately as Stiles talked. Or growl. And because he asked a legitimate follow-up question, dutifully masked with a healthy amount of Hale-sarcasm.

“And who, do you propose, can provide this help?” He grimaced as Stiles came back into view and he turned slightly to look at the human, who was drying his hands.

Stiles smirked to himself, turning to toss the towel back on the counter. “Well, funny you should ask. I happen to know a guy.”

“Oh, you know a guy?” Derek scoffed. Now that was incredulity.

‘What? I am allowed to know people,” Stiles shot back. “And I am not as useless as you make me out to be.” There was the smallest amount of hurt in his tone, and the werewolf caught it, grimacing as he turned his eyes down toward the floor, slightly ashamed. Stiles should not have enjoyed that happening. But he kind of did. It didn’t help matters that embarrassed Derek was the cutest fucking thing in the world. Stiles really needed to get over this whole madly-in-love-with-a-werewolf-thing. Like yesterday.

“You’re right,” he quietly admitted, probably more to himself than anyone. “I shouldn’t doubt you so much. Can you have this guy of yours stop by tomorrow?” Derek’s tone had softened. Stiles responded immediately.

“Sure. What time?”

“Eleven-ish.”

“Okay. I will tell him.” Stiles made a show of pulling out his phone, pretending to text this imaginary person. In actuality he texted Scott, telling him what was going on. He figured that his best friend should get in on this too, as he also had a particular penchant for getting injured in his day-to-day life as a werewolf. Plus he would probably bring Isaac, rounding out the numbers with their obvious bromance.

Derek slumped back into the bed wordlessly, and Stiles sat down next to him. He pulled the fortified drawing salve that Deaton had made out of the first aid kit, and began applying it on gauze to some of the more serious-looking injuries on Derek’s bare torso. It was designed to draw out any poisons that entered the body through open wounds, particularly wolfsbane. Stiles watched as it bubbled to the surface and begin to smoke where he applied it. Derek grumbled and rubbed his temples with his thumb and forefinger. Stiles barely noticed, because abs. He resisted the urge to drool.

“Oh, shut up, Sourwolf. It will help your stubborn ass heal quicker.” Stiles dabbed more of the concoction on a particularly nasty slice over Derek’s bicep. The wound began to hiss, and Stiles watched as it closed up, slowly. He carefully applied it to the rest of Derek’s injuries, and watched as the werewolf’s breathing slowly returned to normal, and his skin kneaded itself together seamlessly. When the last of it was done, Stiles stuffed everything that wasn’t used back into the first-aid kit, and shoved it underneath Derek’s bed. Stiles kept a few small things from it on his person and the same fully-stocked kit in his house, just in case Derek showed up there after being mauled by the latest supernatural calamity that plagued Beacon Hills. It had happened before. The thought made Stiles sigh. He was tired of seeing the alpha so close to death.

He checked his phone. It was late. “Der?” He asked the werewolf, who was succumbing to sleep after his ordeal today. “Derek?”

“Hmm?” The alpha’s eyes were closed, but he inclined his head slightly towards the sound of Stiles’ voice.

 

“It’s late. I have to go. I put the kit under your bed. If you need anything, call me.” He laid a reassuring hand on the werewolf’s thigh, patting it slightly.

“Mm-hm,” was all Stiles got in response. He gave Derek’s thigh a light pat, and sat up off of the bed, making his way to the loft’s door. He shut off the light and reactivated the proximity alarm on his way out. For good measure, he checked the door to make sure it was locked behind him. The last thing he wanted was for something to come in and surprise Derek while he slept.

**

The next day, Stiles moved about his house, gathering things he would need for his training session with Derek. Oh yeah, the “guy he knew” was totally himself. it would be fun to see the look on Derek’s face when he showed back up at the loft that morning.

“Mountain ash double-staves, check, sparring pads, check, boxing gloves and fingerless sparring gloves (for the werewolves, who would probably destroy any other type of glove with their claws), check, mountain ash long-staff, check, nerves of steel, duh. Stiles assembled everything he would need mostly in one big gym bag, throwing in a change of clothes and a small towel in case of some kind of blood-spillage, which, the more he thought about it, seemed less like an “if” and more like a “definitely-going-to-happen” kind of thing. He threw in an extra towel, just in case, before heading over to the loft around 10 to check on the werewolf. He threw his bag of stuff into the jeep, but the long staff poked out the back, so he left the top open.

The morning was cool, and the drive pleasant. When he arrived at the loft, he found it just as he left it, with no one trying to get in during the night that wasn’t supposed to. He got into the freight elevator and pressed the button without thinking.

That was when he heard the faint sound of the klaxon in Derek’s apartment. He grimaced and hoped the werewolf was already up. He had totally forgotten about setting the alarm the night before. When he arrived at the heavy steel door that marked the entrance to Derek’s humble abode, he found it already open.

The werewolf was still shirtless from the night before, but at some point, he had traded in his blood-soaked and torn jeans for pajama pants, which were sitting low on his hips. Stiles resisted the urge to jump the alpha right then and there. It took serious effort, and wait, yup, Derek wasn’t wearing any underwear.

Stiles couldn’t think of anything else as the werewolf strode angrily over to Stiles, hair still unkempt and dark circles under his eyes. He didn’t even register the barely-contained red of Derek’s eyes, at first at least.

“Was that some kind of sick joke?” Derek growled at him angrily. Stiles snapped out of his Derek-induced stupor.

“Wait, wha—, Oh, right the alarm. Sorry. I set it last night before I left, and I totally forgot when I got into the elevator. Plus,” Stiles gestured at the bag he had set down at his feet, “this shit would have been really awkward to carry up the stairs.”

Derek looked down at the gym bag, two double-staves poking out of it, and back to Stiles, and at the dark staff in his other hand. Stiles repressed a smile poorly as Derek put two and two together. “I hate you. There is no ‘guy,’ is there?”

“Well, technically speaking, yes, there is.”

“Aside from you?” There go the eyebrows of doom. Stiles chuckled.

“Technically speaking—” Stiles floundered. Derek cut him off.

“So that’s a no, then?”

“Sure. Semantics.” Stiles picked up the bag again and strolled past Derek into the loft. “Where do you want to do this?”

“Nowhere, it’s cancelled. You lied to me.” He sounded affronted and confused. Stiles remembered that werewolves could tell if someone was lying.

“Give me a chance, Derek,” Stiles called back at him. “And I technically didn’t lie. I said ‘I knew a guy,’ which, if you think about it, is not a lie. The ‘guy’ I spoke of just happened to be me.” Stiles smiled wryly to himself as he unzipped the bag and began to pull things from it. He heard the alpha sigh exasperatedly, and heard the door being pulled across its track and slam shut. Stiles’ smile became very self-satisfied.

“Fine.” He heard the werewolf growl as he retreated to his bedroom closet to shrug out of the pajama pants. Stiles was saddened at the loss. “But if you get hurt, you have no one to blame but yourself. Now move the coffee table. We can do it there.” Stiles wondered why he bothered. Even if he didn’t move the damn thing (which was way heavier than it looked, by the way), they still had a solid fifty foot square area in which to practice. Not to mention, the gi-normous hole in the wall on the right side opened up into a largely empty warehouse-like extension of the loft. But Stiles didn’t question it, and instead, slid the too-heavy-to-be-normal coffee table off to the side, and butted it up against the big table that Derek liked to frequently brood over in front of the windows.

When Derek returned, Stiles definitely did not notice that he had traded his pajama pants for what appeared to be an even clingier pair of black sweatpants and an a-shirt. Somehow the werewolf was even hotter with the extra clothes on. Stiles checked himself. He knew Derek would be able to catch wind (haha, literally) of Stiles’… interest if he kept it up. So instead, Stiles decided to look at literally everything else in the loft instead of the werewolf while he stretched lightly. An ingenious idea. He let his hamstrings, calves, and achilles tendons yell as he stretched, sitting down and stretching his inner thighs, his core, and his groin. Finally he devoted attention to his arms and shoulders before rolling his neck around a few times. He stood back up and swung his arms back and forth to work the slight burn from them. He didn’t realize Derek had been watching him. Stiles gave a slight start when he realized it, his heartbeat quickly spiking.

“What are you doing?” Stiles asked, failing at reigning in his pulse.

Derek just cocked his head to the side in a totally non-adorable way, and said, with a note of sarcasm, “waiting. Are we going to do this or not?”

Stiles shook his head and turned around, eyeing the equipment he brought. He was trying to decide what to use. After a few long seconds, he settled on none of it, and went to stand in front of the werewolf, who was looking impatient.

“Okay. So. First thing’s first. I want you to attack me—”

Derek’s eyebrows shot halfway up his forehead and he opened his mouth to speak, but Stiles held out a hand.

“Not really, not full-force or anything, like 70%. I want to get a feel for how you go about it.”

“You know how I ‘go about it.’” Derek responded, with a mocking tone. The air quotes he gave the last part hurt too.

“Only sort of. I am usually there after-the-fact, not during. I save your ass, but I don’t really cheer from the sidelines. Usually I have to figure out where the hell you are. By the time I get there, boom. Fight’s over, and you are staggering through some random parking lot holding your abdominal cavity closed with just your good looks.” Derek grumbled at that.

“So, attack me.” Stiles backed up a few paces, and faced the werewolf, arms crossed against his chest. Derek moved quickly. He covered the distance in a single bound, pushing up off of his planted foot as he did so, to try and bring a flying elbow down on what would have been Stiles’s shoulder.

As he landed, Stiles ducked away, planting two quick open palms against the werewolf’s outstretched forearm and bicep, blocking it deftly. Derek swung the other arm, and Stiles saw it in slow motion, bringing up his opposite arm to block the hit, pushing it out and away as he stepped into Derek’s body, and planted a foot behind Derek’s forward one. Using his arm as a rail against Derek’s chest, and his foot as a hinge on Derek’s heel, Stiles twisted his torso downward, knocking the werewolf off balance and slamming him against the floor with his outstretched arm. The whole exchange had taken approximately three seconds. Stiles patted Derek’s chest and stood up from the half-crouch, hardly having to move to return to his original position. Derek blinked three times in close succession, clearly surprised by the unexpected graceful takedown from the usually-can’t-stop-flailing clumsy human.

Stiles offered a hand, helping Derek back to his feet. “Okay. One of your problems,” Derek raised his eyebrows in surprise as Stiles spoke with obvious authority, “is that you show what you are going to do miles before you do it.”

“One of my problems? One?” Derek blustered at Stiles’ was critique of him, made worse by his mention of multiple problematic areas. He glared at Stiles, who chuckled slightly and continued.

“Yes. Fortunately for you, that is the biggest one.” Derek brushed himself off, still trying to understand how the human managed to take him down. He wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

“So what is the second one?” The questioning eyebrows happened again, and Stiles desperately held on to his composure.

“You didn’t shift.” Derek eyed the human warily.

“Uh, you say that like it is a bad thing.” Now it was Derek’s turn to cross his arms over his chest and look all, well, scowly. So basically, you know, Derek.

Stiles shook his head, and walked over. “It is. When was the last time you stayed in your totally human form when you were fighting?”

Derek couldn’t think of a time. Seriously, mind blank.

“Exactly. So you were holding back. Why?” Stiles knew the answer already, but he was trying to prove a point. He needed to see the wolf. The man he could work on later. In multiple positions. All over the house.

“You know why. I would kill you.” Derek said it through gritted teeth. Stiles thought he might actually like to.

The human chuckled. “If you wanted to kill me, you would have done it a long time ago.” There was something in his voice that threw Derek off for a second. It sounded almost… wistful. Stiles snapped out of it. “Again.” the human braced himself, dropping one foot slightly back, and raising his arms into a staggered position in front of his face into a basic fighting stance, ‘dukes up,’ if you will. He heard Derek’s almost-derisive-but-mostly-playful snort at his appearance, but he didn’t care. A full-fledged alpha werewolf was going to come at him, and he wanted to be ready.

Then Derek shifted. Stiles had seen it before, but he was still amazed, especially knowing that the alpha could control when and where it happened. Scott still had trouble with that at times, as his frequent problems with his calculus homework could attest. Derek splayed his fingers, nails slowly extending into claws, his arms tensed, and he twitched his neck, rolling it as the muscles coiled and intertwined underneath the skin. His face contorted, thickening along the eyebrows, as hair instantly sprouted into being along his jawline. Finally, the alpha opened his eyes, revealing the crimson shine they possessed in alpha-mode as his teeth shifted, his incisors sharpening into long points. The werewolf gave a low growl when the transition completed.

Stiles couldn’t help but be a little afraid and, not going to lie, turned on at the sight. Just a little bit. It was weird. He quickly worked to suppress the thoughts that had sprung into his mind as Derek, rather, the voice that had once been Derek’s, asked,

“You ready?” The question was resting on the back of a controlled exhale. The voice that asked it was deeper, darker, and veiled in the guise of the wolf. Stiles had heard it before, but it never really got old, and it always made him feel all tingly.

Stiles swallowed once. “Yup. Come at me big guy.” Derek inclined his head slightly, and swung outward with a clawed hand, aiming it right at Stiles’ face. The human parried with a forearm, stopping the obviously-telegraphed move in it’s tracks as Derek swung the other one. That one Stiles ducked, letting Derek over-swing before he moved out of the way completely. He heard a growl of discomfort from the alpha as it happened. But he didn’t attack. Instead, he waited. Ready. Then Derek came at him again.

It was a furious storm of movements. Derek would swipe, and Stiles would dance out of the way, too quick and too agile for the werewolf’s liking. Stiles already saw the pattern. Derek was a ‘big move’ kind of fighter, kind of werewolf, actually. He would charge in headlong and try to land anything that stuck. And when he narrowly missed, or Stiles managed to block him, he would snarl, getting angrier and angrier, his claws arcing through the air quicker and quicker, his breath bated, and Stiles almost sweating from the constant moving he was doing. Finally, Stiles called it, and Derek’s face relaxed mid snarl.

“So do you see what your problem is?”

“You?” Derek was still angry and breathing heavily. Stiles was enjoying that particularly. For what reasons, he couldn’t say. Well, he could, but he didn’t want to ruin a perfectly good slow-build fight with a poorly-timed erection.

“No. You.” Stiles intoned. “You charge headlong into your opponent, telegraphing everything, and by the time you get to them, they already know what your next two or three moves are. You have one, maybe two options each time you do it. You either swipe at me with your claws, one-right-after-the-other, leaving me inside your defenses, or you try to get on top of me somehow.” Stiles paused, waiting for some kind of response and partially enjoying the visual of that. When the only response was evident as the werewolf staring at him through red eyes, he continued. “While the moves are great, you need to learn how to hide them from your opponent before you use them. If they see it coming, then they will know how to stop you.”

Derek somehow, through his wolfed-out exterior, looked confused. Stiles caught it and walked over, so that he was standing directly in front of the werewolf in a staggered stance. “Swing at me.” Derek obliged, levelling one clawed hand at his face firmly. Stiles held up an arm, stopping it in its tracks. As soon as that happened, the human’s body rotated slightly, and he brought the palm of his other hand forward, connecting it with Derek’s chest. The thump was enough to stagger the alpha, if only briefly. “Did you see that coming?” Stiles asked, having too much fun with this.

“That depends, did you see this?” Derek mirrored the move, almost. He slid a wolf-paw against Stiles’ still outstretched arm, while opening the other one. Stiles knew what was coming as he saw it. He braced himself for the hit.

When it came, it was harder than he expected, as if the werewolf had forgotten that he was supposed to be holding back. It connected with his chest, pushing him off the ground, and throwing him several feet back into the coffee table he had moved earlier. As his back connected with it, the air was pushed out of his lungs, and he keeled over, stuttering for breath. Derek was on him in an instant, muttering apologies and trying to help him regain his ability to breathe. He pulled up on Stiles’ shirt to see a dark bruise already forming on his chest. Stiles could feel the pain in the alpha’s eyes. It was clearly an accident. Derek had let his anger get the best of him. He wasn’t mad, especially when the alpha gripped his forearm and began ebbing the pain. Stiles watched Derek’s veins run black as they pulled it out of him.

Then his breathing returned to him. Derek was still apologizing and asking if Stiles could hear him. The human wiped blood from his lip, because apparently he had bit his tongue as he had been slammed home, and chuckled.

“That was a good hit. Well, better. Not great, but good.” He used Derek’s forearm to help himself to a standing position. Derek looked at him, stupefied. Stiles rubbed his chest with his hand. “Definitely a good hit.” He shook himself out.

“Stiles—” Derek protested, as the human pulled him back over to the open floor.

“Okay, let’s try that again.” He grabbed Derek and pushed a leg back, centering the werewolf’s torso between the front and back legs. He grabbed one claw and brought it up into a slightly bent and open position in front of Derek’s face, about a half arms-length away from his body. He did the same with the other claw, positioning it slightly higher, just under Derek’s chin, open and claws forward. He talked to himself as he did it, and Derek continued to protest until finally it became too much.

“Stiles.”

“What?” Now Stiles was the frustrated one. Derek let his hands drop. He began to shift back.

“You need to stop. I hurt you. I may have broken your ribs. We need to stop. You should—”

Stiles cut him off. “Okay, first of all, if I had broken ribs, I would feel it. Second of all, I can take more damage than you give me credit for. And third,” Stiles inched closer to the werewolf. “Third, it was a mistake. You made a mistake. You went a little too far, and that is okay. It happens. I will be fine. I’m not made of glass.” He patted the alpha’s face, earning him a fresh scowl.

“Why do I get the feeling we aren’t just talking about the fight?” Derek questioned knowingly.

“Nothing escapes your keen, werewolf senses, do they big guy?”

Derek growled. He returned to his fighting stance, claws in front of him how Stiles had positioned them. He felt slightly ridiculous, even as Stiles approached him and swung. Derek blocked, locking a hand around the human’s wrist. Stiles spun, rotating his captured wrist enough to suddenly have a grip on Derek’s arm, and twisted. His other hand came down on the alpha’s elbow, forcing him to his knees as fire spewed up the paralyzed limb to his shoulder.

He snarled, letting his wolf take over again, and hooked a heel around Stiles’ leg, catching the human off-balance and slamming him into the floor. Stiles let his body unroll as it made contact, spreading the impact out to lessen the force. Derek was on him in an instant, attempting to grab his throat with a clawed hand, making sure to keep the move fast and short, out of sight before it actually happened. Stiles made an ‘x’ with his forearms, pushing the hand up and away from his neck. Derek tried again. Stiles blocked it quickly and lightly tapped the side of his hand against the werewolf’s exposed throat, collapsing it briefly. As Derek was stunned, Stiles slid downward quickly, bending at the waist and throwing a leg upward behind Derek’s back, catching a heel around the front of the alpha’s neck. He pulled, slamming him back down against the ground. Stiles shirked out from in between Derek’s legs and pulled back a fist, but stopped short of actually striking, instead placing a knee on the werewolf’s chest. Derek held up his hands in submission. Stiles stood and offered him a hand, pulling him to his feet.

They were breathless. The whole exchange lasted no more than a minute, and they were both exhausted. Derek returned to human form almost immediately after they called it.

“Better.” It was Stiles’ official ruling. Derek didn’t think he was likely to get anything more praising out of the human. “You didn’t telegraph your moves as much, and the improvised takedown was a nice touch. I was surprised.”

“Really?” Derek raised his eyebrows questioningly, and Stiles caught a hint of pride in his voice.

“No. But it was still good.” Stiles smirked. Derek returned his face to the usual scowl. “Good enough to warrant me using these next time.” He picked up the dark arm’s-length staves from beside his bag, flourishing them quickly.

“Why?”

“You have your claws, I have mine,” Stiles said wryly. “Mountain ash. Meaning that I have as much of an offensive advantage as you do now. You will have to avoid my attacks. You are great at absorbing them, but you need to learn when to not take a hit too.”

The human leaned back, bending his back leg and straightening his front one. He kept one of the sticks over his head and the other in front of him, beckoning Derek to attack him.

Derek quickly shifted, splaying his claws out with a metallic shriek and roaring at Stiles, eyes going red, and attacked. But Stiles was ready. As the wolf charged him, he swung one stick at a downward angle across his body, making contact with Derek’s shoulder. It stopped the charge dead in its tracks. Stiles leapt to get out of the way as the alpha careened into the ground. The effect was only temporary, and he was back on his feet in no time, trying to work his way inside Stiles’ defenses with short swipes of his claws. Every time he moved, ducked, or went for it, Stiles was there, blocking, parrying, or twisting free. He used his forearms as much as the sticks to block the attacks, and even caught the alpha’s arm between the two staffs on one occasion, twisted, and spun, whipping Derek to the ground by his captured limb. Unperterbed, the alpha grabbed Stiles with his free hand by the collar and threw him down next to him, hoping to stun the human before he could submit him.

Stiles was too quick, though, and tucked his head under, rolling away as he did so. He ended up crouched, on his feet, staves in hand, as Derek kicked himself back onto his own. And the human dove at him, yelling wildly as he brought one of the staves down towards Derek’s face. He had no choice but to block, locking his forearms above him in an ‘x’ formation, the impact of Stiles’ stick biting deep into his bone, Stiles brought the other one down, whapping Derek lightly across the abdomen, hard enough to get him to release his hold. Derek swung for Stiles’ throat, and the human ducked to the side and brought up a stick in parry. Derek braced off of it, and swung himself around Stiles’ back, locking his blocked hand around the human’s shoulder and hauling his other up to his throat. His mouth was pressed up against Stiles’ ear, close enough for Stiles to feel his hot, jagged breathing against his skin. If there was a moment when Stiles was close to having a spontaneous orgasm, it was then.

“Yield?” Derek growled, a little too quietly.

Stiles chuckled, and hoped the werewolf wasn’t concentrating on his scent right now. He probably smelled like he was in heat, or some weird shit, right now, the things Derek was doing to him. “Not on your life.” He hooked one foot around the back of Derek’s and planted, spinning backwards towards the floor with his arm outstretched over the werewolf’s chest reversing the earlier takedown he had used on him. It was effectively taking them both down, and using Derek’s body to cushion his own fall. All Derek thought was this might hurt.

And it did. But as soon as it happened, Stiles had scrambled up and away from him. Derek too, was on his feet. Concrete had never deterred him before. The too-nimble human dropped the staves as Derek swung at him. Once, miss, twice, miss, third time, Derek didn’t swing. He locked his claw into a fist and punched from the position it was in. The sudden, surprise attack clipped Stiles’ shoulder, and heard a grunt as Stiles tried to sidestep it.

Stiles’ vision slowed down. He put one hand on Derek’s outstretched forearm, the one that had just clipped his shoulder, and the other over Derek’s bicep. In one fluid motion, he swung one leg up underneath Derek’s chin, finding purchase around his neck as he brought up the other leg. He let go of the werewolf’s arm and spread his own wide.

Then he twisted. Using his arms as leverage, he wrapped his body down towards the ground. Derek’s head followed, clamped between Stiles’ legs, as he rotated. His legs left the ground, and found themselves over his head. Stiles hit the ground first, feeling it with his ankle as Derek continued his involuntary somersault, landing flat on his back. Stiles was splayed out, legs still locked around the alpha’s neck. He heard the alpha gasp, and managed to get one word out between his own jagged breaths.

“Yield?” He barely got it out before he slumped against the floor, not caring about the response. Derek didn’t answer. But Stiles felt the werewolf shake his head against Stiles’ legs. He loosened them, and Derek was free to gasp for air unabated.

It was an awkward sight. One in which Stiles had one leg across Derek’s chest, and the other behind his head. his own face was smashed against the concrete floor, they were both drenched in sweat and panting. But neither had the strength to move.

That is, until Scott cleared his throat loudly. Stiles was surprised Derek hadn’t heard them arrive. Stiles attempted a half-wave. It came out more as a flail. He was so exhausted he didn’t care.

“Why does it smell like sex in here?” Isaac looked up from his phone, looked at Scott, and at the pair on the floor in an oh-that’s-why expression. Stiles wanted to punch the stupid, smug look off of his face.

Derek was dead to the world, still trying to breathe normally, and Stiles staggered to his feet. “I can explain,” he managed to get out.

“No need. That was awesome.” Stiles’ best friend smiled. He wondered how long Scott had been standing there.

Stiles managed a self-satisfied half-smile. Only for a second though, because his face hurt like whoa. Then Derek was there with a small bag of ice. He didn’t even hear the werewolf get up, let alone go to the kitchen and fill a bag with ice from the freezer.

He also didn’t expect the all-too-pleasant look on Derek’s face as he took the ice from him. Or what came out of the werewolf’s mouth next.

“Scott. Give us a minute.” He put a hand across Stiles’s shoulder and pulled him off to the kitchen. Stiles looked back to mouth a what-the-hell-is-going-on at his friend, but when he turned to look, Scott was beaming like it was his job, and he gave Stiles a wink.

The little shit. That is why he was late. Stiles made a mental note to punch him in the balls later. And then, you know, give him a hug, or a big sloppy kiss, or something.

Derek let go of Stiles and filled another bag of ice, and placed it gingerly on the base of his neck. Stiles heard the front door slide closed.

“So.” Ugh, damn Derek and his adorable awkwardness.

“So.” Damn Stiles too.

“Where did you learn to fight like that?” Derek managed. Stiles could hear his anxiety in his voice.

“Side effect of growing up around a police officer,” Stiles said. “You get bored doing homework at the station, and wander, and wind up in close-quarters combat training.” He chuckled at the thought. He had been no more than ten when that had first happened. It was a wonder that they even let him do it.

“Oh.” Derek sighed, looking intently at the ground. “I should have guessed.”

Stiles eyed him warily as he leaned up against the counter. “So why did you want to talk to me?” No use in beating around the bush.

Derek flushed. Stiles was distracted enough by it that he was totally caught off-guard when the alpha started speaking in response.

“I- You- You smelled different today.” Derek seemed to be kicking himself in his mind for uttering those words.

Stiles knew where he was going, though. He briefly considered making it worse, primarily for his own amusement, but stopped himself when he realized that this might be the closest he ever comes to getting feels out of Derek without him being nearly dead.

“How so?”

“I don’t know. I just, knew. Something was different. It has been, actually. I…” Derek stopped short of finishing the sentence. “I’m really bad at this.”

“Derek, do you like me or something?” Feigning the idiot. Nice.

“Yes?”

“Really no room for grey areas here, Derek. Kind of a all-or-nothing kind of thing.” Derek didn’t answer immediately. So Stiles continued. He had been around werewolves for a while, so he drew on that knowledge in changing the subject, probably making the whole situation worse in the process. “So about my smell, did it smell better or worse than usual?” He set down his bag of ice, and slowly advanced on the alpha, who was leaning on the counter opposite him.

“Better?” Again with the question-answers. It was like talking to himself.

“How so?”

Derek became surprisingly loquacious all of a sudden. “When we were fighting, it was really strong. And it wasn’t your normal scent. It was all the smells I enjoy. Vanilla, a hint of cinnamon, the woods after rain, pine, leather, gasoline, sweat. All of them.”

Stiles literally had no response to that. He also had no reasoning for what he did next, completely surprising himself as well as Derek, in the process.

He covered the last half-step into Derek’s personal bubble, looking up slightly at his eyes. They weren’t red anymore. They were green. Seafoam, flecked with gold, and deeper than the ocean. Stiles could get lost in there. He closed his, and pulled Derek’s lips towards his own. It was a tender kiss, a soft locking of their lips, Stiles’ upper over Derek’s, and Derek’s lower underneath his own. Warmth flowed from it. Then something shifted. Stiles drank deep as Derek let out a meant-to-be-stifled moan, and blood rushed away from Stiles’ ever-talkative mind as he felt himself harden underneath his workout pants.

He felt Derek’s tongue slip past his own, sending electricity down his spine, their breath intermingling hotly as they tried to take in air. The tenderness gave way to desperation, to franticness, to a yearning that Stiles had felt for a long time and Derek had only recently come to sense. But it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the feeling.

All thought in Stiles’ mind stopped as Derek’s mouth left his own and began to travel down his jaw and throat, onto his collar bone. Derek nipped at the tender skin, and Stiles reached down and slid his hands underneath the hem of Derek’s shirt, hiking it up as his fingers dug into the werewolf’s back.

Derek paused only to yank Stiles’ shirt over his head, quickly returning to running his lips over the lean muscle of the human’s chest. As he grazed a nipple, Stiles shuddered, his nails clenching into the skin of Derek’s back. The alpha growled quietly in response. And then Stiles realized that it didn’t matter how well he fought, or how much he could beat Derek’s ass, the werewolf had ways of defeating him. It was happening now. Stiles felt himself being turned around, his back pushed up against the counter. Sensing what Derek wanted, he hopped up onto it, as the alpha yanked his workout pants down to his ankles. Stiles wondered briefly whether or not Scott and Isaac were still in the next room. He hoped not.

Stiles let his head loll back against the cabinets. He lost all concept of space and time as Derek’s mouth moved down towards his cock, and Stiles nearly died when he felt the warmth of it slide down over it. His hands were threaded through the alpha’s hair, gently tugging on it with the rhythm of Derek’s head. Stiles could feel the hot, tight ball of his unreleased orgasm start to well up in his groin as Derek’s lips moved faster and faster over him. He could see Derek’s own cock straining at the seams of his sweat pants, a small stain of pre-come beginning to appear through them.

Finally, it was too much. With a loud groan, and a clenching of fingers in Derek’s hair, and the curling of his toes, suspended off of the floor, Stiles came down Derek’s throat, and Derek didn’t stop, even as Stiles bucked with each aftershock, he continued letting his ridiculously perfect mouth slide up and down on Stiles still-hard cock, just now beginning to slow his pace. Finally, when it became too much for Stiles to handle, Derek finally released his hold on him. He looked up at the human, his eyes half glazed-over and a smile etched upon his face, and Stiles bent down to kiss him. The intermingling of his own flavor and that of Derek’s tongue was enough to make him twitch for round two. Instead, he hopped off the counter, leaving his workout pants where they had fallen, and motioned for Derek to stand up, crouching in front of him.

Stiles looked up towards Derek’s face as he took the alpha into his mouth, feeling him throb in the back of his throat. Derek’s eyes were fixed on his own, deep and green. It wasn’t long until they went from being brooding and smoldering to wide and pleading, and finally to closed tightly behind Derek’s eyelids as he came down Stiles’ throat with a barely-contained growl, his body wracked by aftershocks.

Stiles smiled as he pulled back and wiped off the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. He was definitely going to make sure these practices happened on a regular basis. And based on the look written across Derek’s blissed-out face, he would make sure of it too. It was the only thought his mind was capable of forming at the moment.

Well, Stiles did have one burning question.

Where the hell did Scott and Isaac go?


End file.
